by Kate Novak
Joel peered out the cabin door. Jedidiah had left his pack leaning against the railing. Joel paused to debate the wisdom of running out and grabbing it.
Then something grabbed him. From over the cabin door, two tentacles lashed downward and around Joel’s right arm and throat.
The young bard screamed as he was lifted bodily to the roof of the cabin. He found himself face-to-face with the most loathsome-looking creature he’d ever seen. Its head looked like a huge exposed brain, four feet across, with no apparent eyes and a great sharp beak for a mouth. It had no body, but floated in the air, trailing several tentacles as long as a man.
A swarm of the large creatures surrounded the ship. Several hovered over the rail and the cabin. From the cabin door below, Joel could hear Jedidiah chanting a spell. A silver war hammer manifested above the deck and shot out toward the lead creature. The magically summoned weapon buried itself into the creature’s brain with a sickening squishing sound. The creature chirped but didn’t fall.
Joel reached for his scabbard, but the creature holding him had already removed his sword with one of its tentacles. The remaining appendages wrapped about the bard’s other arms and legs. Joel felt his skin tingle, as if he were being pricked with hundreds of sharp needles and pins, then go completely numb. His muscles no longer responded to his commands.
The other tentacled creatures began to float down the cargo bay to the deck below.
From what seemed far off, Joel heard the banelich’s voice rise in an arcane chant. There was a clap of thunder, and a great cloud of smoke burst across the bow. A flaming chariot, pulled by two fiery horses, appeared on the cargo deck. The banelich stepped out of the cabin and fired off four black bolts of cold fire at the two creatures blocking his route to the chariot. They fell to the deck, their tentacles writhing like worms. Walinda, dressed in her plate mail and armed with her goad, rushed out onto the deck. The banelich climbed into the chariot with the priestess at its heels.
More attackers swarmed toward the followers of Bane, but the creatures were instantly singed by the flames burning about the chariot. Quickly they withdrew their scorched tentacles and curled them up beneath their bodies. The priestess and her master flew off. A flock of attackers flew after them, but the tentacled creatures couldn’t keep up with the magical chariot.
The spelljammer ship began to sink slowly toward the earth. Joel, paralyzed in the tentacles of the creature that had attacked him, could do nothing but watch. Jedidiah emerged from the cabin, swinging a sword. It seemed to Joel that his god was floating in the air toward him as he lopped off tentacles to the left and right. Soon Jedidiah disappeared behind a swarm of the attackers. Then darkness claimed Joel.
When Joel awoke, Jedidiah was hovering over him with a look of grave concern.
“Glad you could join us,” the god said. “Though you may wish you hadn’t,” he added grimly.
Joel discovered the numbness had left his muscles and he was able to sit up. Then he heard what sounded like shouting inside his head. Horrible ideas came spilling into his brain. He was nothing more than cattle, meant to be ruled by others. Only illithids were fit to rule, and one day they would conquer the multiverse. Joel put his hands to his head, but the shouting didn’t stop.
Jedidiah covered his priest’s head with his hands and muttered a quick chant. In a few moments, the shouting in Joel’s head died down to a dull roar, then a persistent whispering.
“That should hold you for a little while,” Jedidiah said. “I’m not sure if we’ll have much more time than that.”
The young bard looked around. They were in a small cavern lit by a light stone. The walls were covered with slimy black fungus. Walinda and the banelich were nowhere to be seen. Joel recalled how the two followers of Bane had fled the battle with the tentacled creatures. Then Joel saw something on Jedidiah’s face that he’d never seen there before—fear. Something had frightened his god terribly.
“What happened?” Joel asked. “Where are we?”
“We strayed over the realm of Ilsensine,” Jedidiah explained. “Ilsensine is the god of the illithids, or mind flayers, as they’re called in the Realms. A very powerful god. Jas stole a spelljammer hull from the illithids, the same hull we were caught with. Ilsensine believes the illithids are the only beings fit to rule the universe. We’re nothing but human cattle as far as he’s concerned. The sight of us flying around in one of the illithids’ ships was bound to upset their god.”
“Uh-oh,” Joel murmured.
“Uh-oh is right,” Jedidiah replied grimly. “I’m a fool that it didn’t occur to me just how far Ilsensine’s senses reached. When it detected us, it sent some of its zombie slaves to bring us to its court. The banelich and Walinda fled in a magic chariot.”
“Did you say those creatures with tentacles were zombies?” Joel asked.
Jedidiah nodded. “Sort of. They’re called grell, and ordinarily they would simply eat us and be done with it, but the ones that attacked us are brain-burned puppets of the illithid god. They’re not really undead—they just lack minds of their own. Like the illithids who worship their god, Ilsensine devours the thoughts of others.”
“Is that what’s going to happen to us?” Joel asked, understanding now the fear in his god’s face.
“I think we’re about to find out,” Jedidiah said, nodding at something behind Joel.
The young bard turned around. A male dwarf stood in the doorway. The creature’s eyes were as blank as a statue’s, and his clothing hung in rags on his nearly skeletal frame.
“Follow,” the dwarf croaked.
Jedidiah picked up his light stone, stood up, and helped Joel to his feet. “Joel, I need to concentrate on protecting our minds so Ilsensine can’t tell what we’re thinking,” the older man whispered in his ear. “You must do the talking. Tell it whatever it takes to get us out of here.”
Together god and priest followed the zombie dwarf through a twisting maze of tunnels until they came to a vast cavern. Over fifty zombie grell and five zombie humans stood guard over a myriad of tunnel entrances that led into the cavern. A strange scent, like vinegar, assaulted Joel’s nostrils.
In the center of the cavern was a bed of what appeared to be burning coals, except that the coals glowed not red but green. Acidic vapors rose from the coals, apparently the source of the vinegary smell. Joel was wondering if they were going to be thrown into the fire when the coals began to bubble and rise like bread. In another moment, the coals took on the appearance of a huge brain, the color of polished jade, ten times larger than the brains of the grell. Sections of the brain pulsed and throbbed. Innumerable tentacles hung down from the brain and reached, like roots, into the stone below. Two shorter tentacles waved before the creature’s brain body.
The voice that had shouted in Joel’s head began to reassert itself, like the droning of a self-absorbed lecturer. He felt an incredible sense of pressure on his brain, as if it were a walnut someone were trying to crack. His skin crawled with a primal instinct. He stood in the presence of a power so great and so evil he didn’t need Holly’s paladin’s sense to detect it.
Then the voice in the bard’s head spoke directly to him, and Joel knew then that the green monstrosity before him was the god of the illithids, Ilsensine.
What have you to say for yourselves, thieves?
Joel bowed low before the floating brain. “Your pardon, great one,” he said, “but we are not thieves.” His voice in the great cavern sounded very small.
You were caught with the stolen property of our people. You are thieves.
“The spelljammer, yes,” Joel said. “My associates took it from the thieves, and together we brought it to your realm, Lord Ilsensine. In reparation for the damages done to the vessel, please accept the spelljammer helm attached to the vessel. It belonged to the thieves.”
The pressure on Joel’s brain increased. He raised his hands to his throbbing temples in a futile effort to massage away the pain.
Your
mind cannot remain closed to us forever, the voice declared. We will know if you are lying.
“It is as you say, great lord, but perhaps we can come to some agreement that you will find more satisfying than draining the dregs of our minds,” Joel replied.
We must know who you are, the voice insisted.
“I am Joel, and this is Jedidiah. We are priests of Finder,” Joel replied.
We have never heard of this Finder.
“Thank you very much,” Jedidiah muttered softly, so that only Joel heard him.
“Finder has dominion over the cycle of life and the transformation of arts,” Joel explained, trying to deepen his voice to fill the room. “He is worshiped by artists and bards seeking to renew their work.”
Now we recall. The slayer of Moander. A demi-power worshiped only in Abeir-Toril. There are so many gods worshiped in that world it’s hard to keep track of them all. We wouldn’t be surprised to find they have a god there with dominion over the tableware and ale mugs.
Jedidiah chuckled with amusement. The laughter sounded so genuine that Joel would have been hard pressed to say whether his god was truly amused or just humoring Ilsensine. Joel chuckled as well.
If you are not thieves, why did two of your party flee? the voice asked.
“They were priests of Bane, Lord Ilsensine,” Joel explained. “They stole the ship from the original thieves. We tricked them into flying over your territory.”
There was a momentary silence. Then the god of the illithids said in their heads, Even if you did not steal our people’s ship, there is still the question of trespass. No one enters our realm without paying tribute to us.
“We brought you your ship,” Joel pointed out.
You cannot offer what you do not own as tribute.
“What can we offer you, Lord Ilsensine?” Joel asked.
Knowledge is the only power, Ilsensine said. Unless there is some knowledge you possess that we do not, your lives are forfeit.
Joel choked back his anger at the god’s injustice and struggled with his fear that he had nothing to offer. He bowed his head modestly. “My only expertise is music, O great lord.”
Then we will have a song. Something we have never heard before. Come forward so that we might take one from your mind. Be warned, however, that we will not stop until we find one we have not heard before.
Joel swallowed. There had to be something in his repertoire that the god hadn’t heard … he hoped. He stepped forward.
“No!” Jedidiah declared, yanking the Rebel Bard back to his side. The incognito god stepped forward. “With respect, Lord Ilsensine,” he said, “surely what you seek is not merely new knowledge, but exclusive knowledge. This one”—he nodded at Joel—“is my pupil. There is no song he knows that I do not. I, on the other hand, have many songs in my mind, some as yet unwritten. Take one of those. Then it will be yours and yours alone.”
That would be satisfactory, Ilsensine replied. Come forward.
Jedidiah handed Joel his light stone, then stepped toward Ilsensine. The illithid god raised one of its short tentacles and stroked the older man’s forehead. Jedidiah flinched, but whether from fear or pain, Joel could not tell.
Then in an instant the tentacle pulled backward and lashed forward, burying itself inside Jedidiah’s head like an arrow. Jedidiah gasped.
Joel shouted and tried to leap to his god’s defense, but three zombie grell lashed their tentacles around his arms and legs and held him fast. The young bard struggled furiously, horrified that Jedidiah might be harmed. He shouted for Ilsensine to leave the priest be, to take something from his own mind instead. The illithid god made no reply, but the grell tentacles tightened painfully about his limbs. With a sense of futility and despair, Joel went limp.
After a minute, Ilsensine withdrew the tentacle from Jedidiah’s head. To Joel’s relief, there seemed to be no wound. On the tip of the tentacle was a smear of pink, like raspberry jam. Ilsensine pulled it back toward its brain and smeared it into a fissure between two throbbing convolutions.
Joel felt a sigh in his mind … Ilsensine’s sigh.
Mmmm. That is good. Very good.
Jedidiah collapsed to the floor in a heap.
“What have you done?” Joel cried out, struggling again in the grell’s tentacles.
There is no need for alarm. He is not seriously injured. He will recover. We are most pleased. You have earned your freedom. My servants will escort you to the borders of our realm. Where will you be heading?
“The Palace of Judgment,” Joel said, his eyes straining for some sign of movement from Jedidiah.
You will like it there. It is very beautiful. At least, that is what I have tasted in the minds of humans who have visited there.
A zombie grell scooped up Jedidiah’s fallen form and floated from the hall. The grell holding Joel released him. The Rebel Bard followed after his god. Two grell followed him.
The grell carrying Jedidiah led the party through a glowing portal. On the other side was a straight passageway that climbed back to the daylit surface of the Outlands. After the cool, dark corridors, the bright sky, with or without a sun, was a pleasure to see, and the air felt gloriously warm. Even better was the quiet that settled in Joel’s head.
The grell set down Jedidiah and disappeared back into the dark tunnel in the earth.
Joel rushed to Jedidiah’s side and shook him by the shoulders, calling out his name. The god remained unconscious, and he was very pale, but at least his breathing was steady. Joel rolled his cape up to pillow the older man’s head.
Joel surveyed the land. He stood on a low bluff looking out over a great level plain. From the center of the plain rose a great city, laid out in perfect order, surrounded by a high wall. Everything was built of the same uniform red brick. The roofs all sparkled with glazed yellow tile. The streets were all paved with gray stone. Joel could see at least three large gardens, each growing around a blue lake. Even from this distance, the young priest was inclined to agree with Ilsensine—or, rather, with the victims whose minds the god had drained. The Palace of Judgment was indeed beautiful.
Yet the palace was only a stepping stone to Sigil. He and Jedidiah would have to reach the City of Doors quickly. If they didn’t find the Hand of Bane before Walinda did, they would have nothing to barter for the stolen half of the finder’s stone. Finder would remain a very weak god for a long time, and Bane the Tyrant would return to the Realms.
Joel shuddered. He knelt down beside Jedidiah, shook him gently, and called out his name—his real name this time.
The older priest woke with a start. He smiled up at Joel. “ ’Lo,” he said.
“Hello yourself,” Joel replied with a grin, relief flooding over him.
“Been sleeping long, have I?” Jedidiah asked. He sounded like an invalid recovering from a long illness.
“Not too long,” Joel answered. He helped his god sit up.
Jedidiah’s head twitched involuntarily. It was a movement Joel had never seen before.
“Are you all right?” Joel asked Jedidiah.
“I’m not sure,” the older bard said. “They have a saying in the Outlands: ‘One would be wise to question the wits of anyone who makes it back alive from Ilsensine’s court.’ ”
“You should have let Ilsensine take a song from me,” Joel chided. “I must have known something it had never heard.”
Jedidiah shook his head. “It was too great a risk.”
Joel chuckled. “And Grypht warned me what a reckless fellow you are.”
Jedidiah smiled. “Well, I am. I’m the kind of fellow who climbs to the top of a high wall and dances a jig. But I never intend to fall from the wall and break my neck. You might have known a song that Ilsensine had never heard—one of your own that you haven’t performed yet. But then instead of leaving you completely brain-burned, Ilsensine would have only left you addled. No. I stood a better chance of resisting its probe.”
“Why didn’t Ilsensine just keep us and drai
n us?”
“Have you ever eaten crab?” Jedidiah asked.
Joel looked completely confused by the question.
“Some people enjoy cracking the crab and getting the meat piece by laborious piece. Ilsensine prefers to have the crab shell itself and hand its meat over. Just one of its sick games. Not one you want to play, believe me.”
“Do you know what song it took? Did it take only one?”
“I can’t remember,” Jedidiah said, his face drawn. “I can feel there’s a void, but I don’t know what was there.”
Joel nodded. “I’m sorry. I know how you feel about your songs. They’re like your children. You want them to live and flourish. Now one of them is gone forever.”
Jedidiah looked out across the plain toward the Palace of Judgment. A look of grief swept across his face. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he said. He stood up awkwardly. “Let’s go,” he said.
Fourteen
THE PALACE OF JUDGMENT
After so much time in the wilderness, the crush of humanity approaching the Palace of Judgment was jarring. A steady stream of travelers moved along the paved road toward the palace gates. They all seemed to be traveling on foot. Some were empty-handed, while others carried small sacks of food and belongings. They were all pale, like ghosts. Almost all had dark hair and unusual eyes. There was no traffic headed in the opposite direction.
“They look like the Tuigan Horde,” Joel joked.
“Not so loud,” Jedidiah admonished him. “These are the dead of Kara-Tur. The Tuigans invaded their lands as well. Comparisons between the two peoples would be considered a grave insult. The Kara-Tur consider the Tuigans barbarians. Of course, the Kara-Tur consider all outsiders to be barbarians, from the king of Cormyr to the sage of Shadowdale.”
They stepped into the stream of traffic and approached the gate amongst the orderly dead. Standing to one side of the gate, outside the walls, stood one of the living. Walinda of Bane was examining each traveler who approached the gates. The two living priests stood out among the crowd, and the priestess recognized them only a moment after they spotted her. She hurried toward them.